~ Dreams Aflame

A thousand screaming voices layering in a cacophony of agony, echoing in the endless abyss filled with crimson and emerald flames. Blue-white lightning crackles and spits, lighting the gaping maw just enough for the familiar forms to take shape in their neverending macabre dance—

The toad man, leering, with his small black eyes peeping through the swirling emerald flames that make up his face. "Delicious," he slurps, his long, lumpy tongue rolling toward me as if I were the juiciest fly. My shoulders start to shake as a familiar nausea rises within me.

The claw woman, who has shiny metal claws instead of fingers, flicks them so fast in flashes of burning orange, a wicked grin slashing her gorgeous face. "Ha...ha!" she shouts, dragging the claws down her cheeks. "You did this! You! YOU!" Her hysterical laughter rises to a scream as she combusts in a cloud of sparks that I swear I can feel peppering my skin. 

The drowning child, who I can never save. His screams are always silent as his small form of rolling, indigo smoke sinks into the pit of nightmares. His hand dissolves in mine as I try to reach him, knowing all the while I'll fail him over, and over again.

Make it stop.

For a moment, I hear a faint roar in the distance, a single thread of sanity—the dragon. Sometimes I can find it—a giant ghost-like being made of clouds and auroras. They are the only entity who can bring me a moment of peace in this hellscape. But whatever binds them to this space is weak and the clouds dissipate before long, leaving only the faintest, tiniest sparkling stars in their wake. Even those will fade.

How long have I been here? This place crackles and spits and shrieks, so I run in the darkness with nowhere to go. Over stone and under charred branches. My bare feet have long since hardened to such abuse.

Make it stop.

Is this real? Is it? I try to raise my hands in front of my face, but there is nothing but shadows.

And yet, my throat burns.

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~The Lunatic of LaVelle

Screams were an everyday occurrence inside the LaVelle mansion annex, where Lady Florence LaVelle has lived since she was twelve years old.

One day she was a kind, happy child with the bright future of an intelligent, noble lady ahead of her, and the next she was screaming and shouting such horrendous things that the servants had been ordered to carry her small, writhing form out to the annex so the family could have some reprieve.

Doctor after doctor was secretly summoned to the annex to examine Lady Florence, but not one of them could discover the cause for her sudden change.

"Physically, there is nothing wrong with the child!" they collectively concluded. "She is not injured or ill. How can she be in this state?"

They had scratched their heads and rubbed their beards to no avail—Florence LaVelle remained a mystery, day after day. 

"Here are sedatives to calm her, this is the best we can do for now." 

The days had stretched into months and her screams did not stop. Weariness became permanently etched into the faces of poor Florence's mother and father, the Duke and Duchess LaVelle, who were heartbroken for their youngest child. 

Quietly, they had reached out to doctors from faraway lands, waiting even more months for the doctors and their attendants to travel the long distance to Dorandia, drawn by the promise of riches and fame should they be able to cure the child. 

However, if whatever ailed Florence was something physical, it was beyond the understanding of even the most renowned physicians in the known world. The herbs they recommended did little more than the sedatives the other doctors had prescribed, and they had been cautioned by each and every doctor not to overuse them, lest even more damage be done.

There was no cure for poor little Florence LaVelle.

"What else can we do, Claude?" Florence's mother wept. He held her in his arms, privately in their shared bedchamber. It was a well-known secret that the Duke greatly loved his wife. Tenderly, he caressed her worn cheek as he gazed down into her face. 

In the past year, he had watched his beautiful wife, Adeline, fade with exhaustion and grief. She was a shadow of her former self, though the same could probably be said for him. Gone were her bright hazel eyes, her merry spirit, and her cheerful laugh. But he loved her still and would do anything for her.

"We've done all he could for her, Addie," he said, offering a smile he didn't feel, "everything within our power. We can't do anything more, other than wait. The doctors have all said there might yet be hope for our dear Florence, in time. Hm?"

"You're right, I know you're right...it's just...I'm afraid I might go mad before then and the thought terrifies me. It's not her fault, it's not, but as time goes on it's getting harder and harder, Claude. I'm so frightened." Adeline buried her face in her husband's robe, knowing he'd understand what she meant. 

He did.

"I'll take care of everything," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "Florence will receive the best care while we wait for her to get better. How does that sound?"

Adeline didn't even have the strength to reply. She could only nod into her husband's chest as tears of relief soaked into his robe. 

⸸

~ Jane

Yesterday was Florence's nineteenth birthday, but the occasion had not been celebrated by anyone. Her parents had not stopped by to wish her well, not that she would have noticed, nor did her caretakers offer her a special treat to celebrate. The date had come and gone only to tally the number of years it had been since Florence's madness had begun.

"Seven bloody years of this," Mary muttered to Jane in the annex laundry, one of the few places Florence's screams were quietest, therefore, one of the few places the caretakers could freely gossip. "I myself would've gone mad by now if not for the magicked head wraps."

"They do look so silly, though," Jane replied, wrinkling her nose. True, the fuzzy muffs that covered the maids' ears were unlike anything either of them had ever seen, but they'd been magicked to reduce noise, so the maids wore them without issue.

"Pish posh! I won't complain, not when it saves my hearing and my sanity." Mary paused from stirring her load of linens. "Do you suppose they'll want to keep her like this until she's an old maid? Drugged half the time, force-fed disgusting porridge, unaware of her surroundings and completely dependent? All the while screaming and yelling obscenities at every opportunity?"

She leaned to the side, swiping the damp brown curls on her forehead under her hair-wrap. 

"Well, what's the alternative?" Jane snapped a wet sheet before hanging it up to dry. "Are you suggesting they put her down like a lame horse?" She snorted.

Mary gasped and resumed her stirring. "Don't you put words in my mouth, Jane! I never suggested such a thing!" Mary's mouth hung open in horror as she frantically looked around, making sure no one else was around them. Not everyone who worked in the manor would take Jane's words as a jest, dark as it was.

Surely, it was a jest?

Jane snorted again. "You don't have to. Plenty of others already have. Why, the Lunatic of LaVelle is the talk of the town this season, haven't you heard? Somehow the secret got out that the Duke's youngest daughter has been holed up here the entire time. You should hear what they say! Lord! That she sneaks out at night to eat frogs from under the Black Bridge, or that she's actually an extremely powerful mage, so powerful the LaVelle family is afraid of her and keeps her locked up for safekeeping. In a tower! If only they knew the truth about Lady Florence."

Jane shook her head in mock contrition. A wisp of blonde hair freed itself from her wrap.

Mary knew better than to call her out. The two of them had been working closely together with ten other women, in complete secrecy, taking care of Lady Florence since she was twelve. Well, what used to be complete secrecy. 

Duke LaVelle would not be happy when he learned that there was a rumor about his youngest going around the capital. He may not visit her any longer—he hadn't for years—but that didn't mean he cared nothing for the reputation of the LaVelle name. Despite everything that had happened to her, Florence was still very much a full-blooded LaVelle. 

Had she never been struck with madness, Florence would have enjoyed her debut in society the year before, but only after attending the Royal Academy for four or so years before that. As the daughter of a Duke, all of this would not just be expected, but required, as a noble member of society. 

Since the cat's out of the bag, Jane wondered, surely they wouldn't require the Lunatic of LaVelle to debut in her current state, would they? Surely, the King would offer some kind of exception out of pity. Right?

Jane gnawed on her lip, excited at the prospect of something finally happening around this place. 

⸸

~ King Roark Aurelius deh Doran

Now that the rumor had reached the King's ear, he had a different kind of offer in mind for the man who had deceived him, the man he had come to trust and think of as a friend—Duke Claude LaVelle. 

Friend or not, Duke LaVelle had some explaining to do. As King Roark Aurelius deh Doran’s famously thick brows drew together, his aids scrambled to begin the work he’d just ordered. 

⸸